


A Barrier Between Worlds

by LilyOrchard, MikailaT



Series: Anevay Darkflare - Horde Champion [8]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Goodbyes, Kissing, Love Confessions, Sylvanas gets a cute girlfriend because it's what she deserves, The moritfying ordeal of being known, World of Warcraft: Warlords of Draenor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26946262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyOrchard/pseuds/LilyOrchard, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikailaT/pseuds/MikailaT
Summary: As the Iron Horde threatens to invade Azeroth so quickly after Garrosh's escape, Anevay is conscripted for a suicide mission through the Dark Portal. A mission that, whether success or failure, she is unlikely to return from.
Relationships: Sylvanas Windrunner/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Anevay Darkflare - Horde Champion [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939501
Comments: 29
Kudos: 73





	1. O Surfal'Ana

**Year 31 - On the Eve of the Iron Horde Invasion**

“...Dark Lady? Dark Lady?!” 

Sylvanas snapped out of her thoughts at the sound of Anevay’s voice to see the Blood Elf holding out several scrolls toward her.

“These came for you,” Anevay said, nudging them toward her and looking at her with a concerned expression in her eyes. “Are you alright? You’ve been distracted all day.”

“...Yes, Anevay, I’m fine,” Sylvanas nodded, accepting the scrolls from her Champion. “I simply have a great deal on my mind as of late.” 

“Is it anything I can help you with?” Anevay asked. She’d been watching her Queen closely in the last three days since seeing her rampage through the forests, and while she seemed distant she was at least composing herself better than she had expected her to.

Sylvanas was skimming through the unfurled parchment before looking back up at Anevay, a gentle dismissal already on her lips. She got as far as opening her mouth to speak when she suddenly noticed something. In the dim lighting of the Undercity Throne Room, Anevay’s eyes were very pronounced. The emerald glow of Fel energies was very bold and very striking. It reminded Sylvanas of the warmth that burned just beneath the Blood Elf’s skin. The intoxicating fire that she had seen, felt, and even tasted. Still, had her eyes alone always been so alluring?

“Sylvanas?”

The Banshee Queen blinked, realizing she had gone quite a while without saying anything. 

“I… pardon me, Champion,” she said, the use of Anevay’s title a small tell that she was retreating back into herself. “I was momentarily lost in thought. Nothing to worry about.”

“Alright, if you say so,” Anevay smiled. She bowed her head and turned for her quarters. “I’ll be turning in for the evening. Goodnight, my Queen.”

Sylvanas inclined her head to Anevay, finding the air about her to already be much colder without the warrior’s proximity. In a way, she was grateful for it. It offered a chance to think more clearly, even if the warmth that Anevay gave off was pleasant.

“Sleep well, Anevay,” Sylvanas said with a slight smile. 

As she turned her eyes toward the scrolls in her hands, she unfurled the first one that had a Darkspear seal. A letter from the new Warchief no doubt. As her eyes scanned the page, they widened.

> _Sylvanas_
> 
> _There’s been an incident. Garrosh has seemingly amassed an army orcs almost overnight and they are streaming through the Dark Portal at this very moment. Our forces are keeping them at bay for now, but they’re armed with heavy goblin technology. This could potentially become catastrophic and requires a serious counterattack immediately._
> 
> _I’m working with the Alliance and the Archmage Khadgar to organize a strike force to do two things._
> 
>   1. _Go through the portal and destroy it from the other side, denying this new army entry into Azeroth._
>   2. _Work with friendly locals and raise an army to end this threat before they can try to create another portal._
> 

> 
> _This is likely to be a one-way trip, as we currently have no means to bring our soldiers back from this new Draenor without the Dark Portal. So I’m asking you to send a battalion of soldiers that you can afford to spare. I know you aren’t hurting for numbers, and this could be devastating if we don’t act now._
> 
> _Also send Champion Darkflare._
> 
> _\- Vol’jin, Warchief of the Horde_

Though Sylvanas had nothing else to eat since those biscuits and elixir a few days ago, something in her stomach churned and twisted with dread. 

Sending Anevay through the Dark Portal? A one-way trip!? Was the Warchief positively insane!? Sylvanas was very much accustomed to other Horde leaders throwing her Champion to the wolves, but this was absurd! Her mind raced with a counter offer she could possibly present to Vol’jin in response. What if they simply destroyed the Dark Portal on their side? What if they loaded their artillery with Blight canisters and shoot them through the gateway? What if they simply did anything other than send Anevay through that thrice damned portal!?

In her emotional surge, she hadn’t realized that she had torn the parchment she was reading in two. The hands that were holding either piece were trembling hard. 

No. Not again. 

She couldn’t lose anyone else to that accursed portal.

* * *

Sylvanas stormed into Grommash Hold the very next morning, having left Nathanos in charge of the Undercity in her absence. Vol’jin was on his throne, discussing the matter of the invasion into Draenor with Thrall, a Draenei Paladin she didn’t recognize, and the mage that she remembered her sister journeying to the Outland with. How he had returned and Alleria had not, she had no idea.

“Warchief, I must speak with you,” she said briskly, cutting across the Paladin.

All of them looked up, with Thrall looking confused.

“This not a good time, Sylvanas,” Vol’jin said dismissively. “We be in the middle of planning an invasion.”

“That’s precisely the problem,” Sylvanas said sharply. “Your request to recruit Darkflare is completely unacceptable.” 

That got the troll’s attention. 

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, Vol’jin!” Sylvanas hissed. “I will not allow you to send my most valuable asset into certain death just to quell Hellscream’s little invasion. 

“There’s nothing little about it, Dark Lady,” Thrall said, shaking his head. “Even now, the orcs that pour from the Dark Portal come in numbers unseen since the First War. We believe that he has assembled an entirely new Horde. With the losses we’ve faced from the Scourge, the Black Dragonflight and Garrosh’s own war mongering, neither Alliance nor Horde has the strength to repel an invasion force of that magnitude. We must take the fight to them before Azeroth is overrun.” 

“Then call upon my Dark Rangers and Dreadguard for aid!” Sylvanas countered. “Do not ask me to expend my best warrior on a suicide mission!”

Vol’jin furrowed his brow as he glanced between Thrall and Khadgar. They both shrugged in confusion in return. This was an entirely new attitude from Sylvanas. She hadn’t objected so emphatically to sending Anevay on suicide missions before, such as with Deathwing or the Pandaria Campaign. Yet suddenly now it was unacceptable?

“Lady Sylvanas,” Khadgar said, turning to face the Banshee Queen. “I can assure you that I will do everything in my power to ensure that our Champion returns safe and sound.”

Sylvanas said nothing immediately, instead opting to slowly turn her head to the Archmage. The inferno that blazed behind her crimson eyes seemed to suck the light and warmth from the room as she leered at Khadgar with immeasurable levels of contempt. 

_“...You have taken one of my greatest warriors through the Dark Portal before, Khadgar,”_ she said coldly, the haunting power behind her voice causing the torches around them to nearly snuff out. _“Where is she now?”_

Khadgar bristled at Sylvanas’ words before his head fell slightly. He had no answer to that. No argument. All he could offer was a shamed expression. 

“Enough!” Vol’jin barked out, causing Sylvanas to reign in her dark power and return her attention to him. “Sylvanas, Thrall and Khadgar are both going through the portal as well. If this mission is crucial enough to risk Azeroth’s greatest Shaman and Mage, we can stand to expend a warrior like Darkflare. No cost is too great for the safety of our world _or_ this Horde!”

Finally, the Paladin stepped forward, shouldering his mace. “Lady Windrunner. We haven’t met. I am Maraad. I understand why you might consider this to be overkill, but the Iron Horde is amassing weapons and technology not seen since the Third War. Many of our worst enemies have returned, including the dreaded Ner’zhul. We need Lady Darkflare. Her ferocity is unmatched, and her tactics efficient and ruthless. We cannot win this war without her.”

One name in that little tirade managed to catch the Dark Lady’s attention. 

Ner’zhul. 

The accursed wraith who’s voice seared it’s way into her head and compelled her to do his bidding when Arthas raised her into undeath. It had been years since she was the Lich King’s slave, but what she suffered in that time would haunt her for as long as she walked upon Azeroth. For him to return…

Sylvanas was quiet for a moment before she finally found her voice. “What else have we gathered for this counter invasion?”

“Elite soldiers from all across the Alliance and the Horde, as well as a battalion each from every nation in both factions,” Khadgar explained. “The Alliance’s champion, Lady Bladewing, has also been conscripted for this invasion, as well as a small stockpile of resources to be ported in. I will be able to open a portal to Azeroth for a few moments after we arrive. After that, however, returning will require additional aid.”

Sylvanas remained silent as she processed what Khadgar explained. Beneath the shadow that was cast by the hood of her cloak, her eyes burned bright with conflict. The sharpened claws on her gauntlets dug into her palms as he fists clenched tightly. Vol’jin’s brow arched, silently questioning how long Sylvanas intended to keep them all in suspense before his curiosity was suddenly sated. 

“...I will have Anevay lead my finest Dreadguards during the first push into Draenor,” she said, her voice echoing throughout the throne room despite her speaking in a whisper. “My Dark Rangers will stand by and await to come to reinforce you. If they discover that Darkflare has been lost in that time, they will be authorized to kill _whoever_ was responsible.” 

She cast a warning glare to everyone in the room to accentuate her point.

“...Understood,” Thrall nodded.

Satisfied, or at least as satisfied as she could be in this case, she turned on her heel and stormed out. Vol’jin and Thrall looked at each other, while Maraad and Khadgar only looked confused.

“What on Azeroth was that about?” Khadgar asked.

“I’m… not entirely certain,” Thrall said, stroking his chin. “This was very… uncharacteristic of her.”

“I’ve never pretended to understand Sylvanas,” Vol’jin huffed as he leaned back on his throne. “But… she and Darkflare get results. They still be an asset more than a detriment.”

“She is extremely protective of Lady Darkflare,” Maraad mused. “To what extent do the two… interact?”

“Apparently Sylvanas was Darkflare’s commanding officer before the fall of Quel’thalas,” Thrall explained. “Her respect for the Dark Lady runs deep enough that she has been stationed in Lordaeron for years rather than in her homeland. I would expect this sort of protective behavior from _her,_ but not Sylvanas.”

“Have you suspected…” Maraad paused as he considered his words, Sylvanas’ status as an undead making him unwilling to speak plainly in this regard. “...Fraternization?”

An air of awkwardness passed over the Throne Room at the paladin’s words. 

“I… no, that can’t be it,” Thrall said, shaking his head, as if he were trying to shake the very thought from his mind. “Again, Darkflare would be so depraved, but Sylvanas simply doesn’t… think that way. None of the Forsaken do to my knowledge.” 

Khadgar stroked his chin as he gave the notion some thought. It was clear by his disposition he was pursuing the idea almost academically. “Well it would certainly explain the outburst we just witnessed. Perhaps this was a recent development?” 

Vol’jin groaned with irritation as he rubbed at the sudden ache behind his eyes. “Are we seriously talking about such trivial gossip when there’s an invasion to prepare for?”

“Warchief, I implore you to take this more seriously,” Maraad frowned. “A Queen playing favorites is a dangerous thing indeed. Especially one as ruthless and cold-hearted as her.”

“On any other occasion I would consider that a problem worth looking into, Paladin,” Vol’jin responded. “However, the otherworldly threat banging at our door be a greater priority as of right now. Besides, I would consider them being separated by a barrier between words to be a suitable countermeasure for the time being.” 

“I will speak with Darkflare while we organize our forces,” Thrall nodded to Vol’jin. “At the very least we can work it out from there if we return.”

* * *

Anevay ripped up Vol’jin’s summons and threw it into the canals. She was practically seething and damn near turned her warblade on Thrall. “A suicide mission?! On this short notice?! And I don’t even get time to say my goodbyes?! This is fucking inhumane!” A guttural roar of frustration tore from her throat as she slammed her fist into the stone column beside her, causing a sizable crack to form. Her knuckles ached with the stress she put them under, but that couldn’t be farther from her mind. She began pacing back and forth, positively livid at this information. 

“Darkflare, I know that-”

“No! Don’t you ‘Darkflare’ me! I should have been informed of this from the start!” Anevay spat, rounding on Thrall with a murderous hatred in her eyes. “You had time to send a message to Sylvanas, but not to me?! Not until the day of?! I understand the Horde sees me as expendable, but this is just ridiculous, Thrall!”

“Sylvanas was supposed to inform you of this herself,” Thrall explained. “She wasted time trying to argue with Vol’jin, which is why we had to resort to informing you ourselves on this short notice.”

“Don’t you dare put this on her! She’s been run ragged enough the last few days as it is!” Anevay got right into Thrall’s face. “Give me one reason why I should even bother going through the Dark Portal?! I’ve fought enough world-ending catastrophes in the last four months!”

Thrall furrowed his brow, the intensity with which Anevay defended the Dark Lady not being lost on him. He would have to remember to follow up on that when they had time to spare. Best not to let a potential catastrophe stack atop the current one if he could help it. 

“It is your experience with fighting against Garrosh that we will need in this war,” the Shaman insisted. “You defeated him when he had drunk the blood of an Old God.”

“And what does he have now? Some explosives and a bunch of salivating beasts at his command?!” Anevay growled. “Just throw a Blight canister on the lot of them and call it a day!”

Another suggestion that Sylvanas made back in Orgrimmar. This was becoming too suspect to be a coincidence. “Look Darkflare, Sylvanas has already sanctioned your assignment. If you take issue with our decision, you take issue with her as well.” 

Anevay’s brow furrowed and she stepped back from Thrall. “...No. No, she wouldn’t do that. You’re lying!”

“She has threatened to claim our heads should anything happen to you, but she has sanctioned the orders regardless,” Thrall clarified, keeping his tone even and detached. “To defy this order would mean to defy not just the Horde, but your Queen.”

Anevay was quiet for a moment, and then turned and stormed off the canal bridge toward the Royal Quarter. She pushed past the Dreadguards and into the Throne Room, where Sylvanas was sat on her throne. She looked angry, but Anevay was angrier. “Dark Lady! Thrall has just told me you sanctioned sending me across the Dark Portal for a suicide mission,” she exclaimed. “Tell me this isn’t true?”

Sylvanas had prepared for this moment, or at least she had assumed she did. In the time it took her to return to Undercity, she was choosing which words to best break the news to her Champion with. She had a calculated, pragmatic argument ready to go when the blood elf confronted her. But those words died on her lips when she saw how angry Anevay was. Angry at _her._ Something she very recently discovered she couldn’t stand. The detached rationale she had ready on her tongue suddenly died in her throat. 

“...I’m sorry, Anevay,” she whispered, her voice lacking it’s haunting power. She rose from her throne, standing before the fuming elf. “...I tried to fight them on it, but they refused to budge. They didn’t see you as any more invaluable than Khadgar or Thrall. But I won’t be sending you alone. I’ve already organized my finest Dreadguard and they await you in the ruins above.”

Anevay’s shoulders slumped, unable to comprehend the fact that she really was being conscripted for certain death. “I… I don’t understand. Why? Why would you cave like that? It’s just Orcs…” Her eyes had started to glisten with the first inklings of tears. She felt so betrayed in this moment that all she wanted to do was lash out.

It was all Sylvanas could do not to tremble in that moment. Anevay was so hurt. So angry. She couldn’t bear the sight of it. She didn’t know if she should try to hurry the blood elf on her way or try to reconcile her anger, but either way, she couldn’t bear the thought of Anevay being angry with her. “I am so sorry, Anevay,” she said, her voice impossibly soft and damn near cracking. “If I refused they would simply take you from me and… and I don’t have the strength to protect you.”

Anevay’s hurt and betrayed expression faltered as she saw her Queen become so… vulnerable. Of course she didn’t have the strength. It had only been a few days since she had been so thoroughly heartbroken by her sister. She was likely still running on fumes and hadn’t fully recuperated.

Anevay sighed and took a step closer. “Just tell me. What is so dangerous over there that it needs my attention?”

Sylvanas bristled, the thought that leapt to mind nearly caused her to become lost in her memories. In her days as a slave to the Lich King. She didn’t wish to say it, but she couldn’t deny Anevay anything. 

“...Ner’zhul,” she answered.

Anevay’s eyes widened. She hadn’t. She couldn’t have. There was no way she’d just heard that. “...Ner’zhul? But… he’s dead. I killed him.”

“This is an alternate Draenor,” Sylvanas explained. “The orc he was before the Lich King exists on the other side. Even before the Scourge, he was dangerous enough to tear the original Draenor apart. ...He cost me my sister.” Her face contorted, a familiar ache in her chest returning in full force. It took a moment longer for her to gather enough of herself and not break down on the dias she stood. “...He cannot be allowed to live.”

Anevay’s anger completely died in that moment and was replaced by a feeling of exhausted resignation. “I… I understand, my Queen,” she said, hanging her head slightly. Of course Sylvanas would want to ensure Alleria’s sacrifice wasn’t in vain. She was technically the only sister she had who hadn’t rejected her, and likely never wound considering she was either lost, dead or worse. “I’ll do it. I’ll go and ensure none of them escape that planet…” 

Sylvanas looked back up at Anevay. The woman who was furious with her a moment ago, and rightfully so, suddenly understanding and resigning herself to the task at hand. She should have been relieved, but something about Anevay’s almost defeated expression was even worse. That was not a face that convinced her that she would see her Champion ever again. Her body moved without thinking, her legs clearing the distance between the both of them and her arms enveloping Anevay in the tightest hug she could muster. Sylvanas buried her face in the crook of her neck, taking a modicum of comfort in the warmth Anevay exuded while also concealing the look of absolute shame on her face. 

“Come back,” she beseeched softly. So soft that only Anevay could hear. “Don’t die on that miserable planet. Do whatever you can to survive. Sacrifice Thrall, Khadgar, the whole damn invasion. Kill everyone on that world. I don’t care. Just come back to me. ...Please.” 

“...Sylvanas, I…” Anevay was surprised as she numbly returned her embrace. “I don’t understand. Why… why are you so… torn up about this?” she asked quietly as she hugged her Queen, her friend, tightly.

Sylvanas had asked that question a fair dear herself. One answer that came to mind was one she wasn’t sure she was ready to consider yet, if ever. Luckily, there was another answer that she believed would suffice. 

“...Because you’re my friend,” she whimpered, clinging even tighter than before. “I cannot lose that. Not now.”

Anevay fell quiet and hugged her tighter. This was probably going to be the last time she ever saw Sylvanas. She might never come back. She might die, or be stranded forever. She needed to say _something_. If she didn’t she’d spend the rest of her life regretting everything she could have said but didn’t.

“I… I know what happened with Vereesa,” she said quietly.

Silence passed for what felt like an eternity before Sylvanas suddenly tore herself from Anevay’s arms to look at her incredulously. “...What!?”

“I was on patrol and I saw the dead animals,” Anevay explained. “Then I heard the scream. I recognized that it was you and I ran toward it to see if you were okay. That’s when I found Vereesa’s letter.”

Anevay watched Sylvanas’ eyes grow more white than red. She had never seen her so shocked before. So… mortified. 

“S-So… you saw…” She couldn’t finish that sentence. _‘Please say no. Please tell me you didn’t see me like that._ ’

Anevay nodded. “I’m afraid I did,” she said. Her arms hadn’t let go of Sylvanas’ midsection this entire time, and she even tightened them the tiniest bit. “I had to do something, but I wasn’t sure you’d appreciate me just intruding on you. So… I came back here and made you something to possibly comfort you. The tea… and the biscuits.”

The Banshee Queen’s still, unbeaten heart suddenly sank like a stone. She looked back at that moment of much needed reprieve, of unexpected generosity and kindness… and felt almost dirty. “So that was… pity?”

Anevay shook her head. “No. Not pity. Sympathy,” Anevay corrected her. “Seeing you hurt like that, I… I had to do _something_. I couldn’t just let you fester like that. What your sister did to you was horrible, I’m so sorry that happened. You didn’t deserve that.”

The urge to pull away, to put an end to this moment of vulnerability and lash out at Anevay came to her mind. Alas, that urge was not unignorable. It was not indomitable. The voices that told her to punish Anevay for patronizing her were almost inaudible really. Just a fleeting reflex that she was able to resist. Sylvanas eased herself closer to Anevay, bringing trembling hands up to rest on the younger woman’s forearms. “You don’t… think less of me? For trusting her?”

Anevay shook her head. “She was a coward. She didn’t even have the gall to tell you that to your face, hiding behind a letter. You deserve a better sister than that.”

Sylvanas did not expect the near crushing wave of relief that swept over her. She sank back into Anevay’s arms, a sob threatening to escape her throat. “...Please come back,” she whispered desperately. “I’ve lost my home… my family… my peace… I cannot lose you too.” 

“I… I knew you were fond of me, but…” Anevay’s breath hitched, tears starting to brim in her eyes. A sense of dread, of fear, of _longing_ swept over her as Sylvanas clutched her. “I didn’t think I was _that_ important…”

Sylvanas let out a wry huff of laughter as she grabbed a fistful of Anevay’s impossibly soft hair. “...You have broken through the ice and barbs that encased what remains of my heart,” she whispered, not daring to say it any louder. 

“I… really?” Anevay asked, tensing up when Sylvanas grabbed her hair. Her heart was pounding like war drums in her chest. Everything Sylvanas was saying was skirting dangerously close to things she had only ever heard in sordid dreams.

“Really,” Sylvanas confirmed meekly. “...I wish you didn’t have to go. I’ve never wanted something more than that.”

Anevay’s breath was shaky and shallow. Her entire body was trembling not just from the closeness but from seeing a side of Sylvanas she had only ever caught a glimpse of before. She knew Sylvanas wore a mask. Knew she hid her vulnerabilities. But she’d never seen them come down like this. “Sylvanas, I… I don’t… are… I’m sorry, I can’t get… words out…” Her heart was pounding so fast she felt the slightest bit dizzy.

Sylvanas could feel the frantic tempo of Anevay’s pulse. Each pump sent another wave of her intoxicating warmth coursing through the risen elf. It helped soothe her. Quelled the maelstrom of emotions she was feeling. Anevay’s embrace felt like Sanctuary, the likes of which she had never experienced since the first time the Val’kyr saved her from the Hungering Dark. “...It’s ok,” she whispered, unclenching her fist and threading her open fingers through Anevay’s hair. “Find the words when you come back. It will… give us something to look forward to.”

Anevay took a shaking breath that just barely concealed a sob and looked up to meet Sylvanas’ eyes. Her cold fingers threading through her hair had, by some strange undead paradox, both soothed her and excited her at the same time. “You know I can’t promise that I _will_ come back,” she whispered.

The Banshee bristled, her grip on Anevay tightening. “Promise me anyway,” Sylvanas begged. Despite her instincts still screaming at her to stop showing weakness, she just needed to hear the words. She needed… hope.

Anevay grew a pained look on her face, and all she could think about was the promise Vereesa had made to Sylvanas, and then broke. And how devastated she had been by it. “...I can’t. Not after what I saw. I… I can’t do something like that to you. I care too much about you.”

Sylvanas wanted to argue. She wanted to insist and plead that Anevay just say it. That she wouldn’t resent her if she didn’t keep that promise. But… something inside knew that such a statement wouldn’t be true. She knew that it did neither of them any good to part on falsehoods and words of empty comfort. Even now, that lesson hurt just as fiercely as it did the first time.

Anevay saw her wilt, and knew that she’d hurt her regardless. “I’m sorry. You’ve done so much for me and I’ve never had the chance to show you my gratitude. There’s so much I wish I could say, and I’m running out of time. I…” she sighed and pulled Sylvanas back into a tight hug. “Thank you for everything, Dark Lady. I love you.”

Sylvanas froze in Anevay’s grasp. She heard what the Blood Elf said, she understood it and knew it to be true. She even had confirmation that the younger woman felt that way about her right from her mouth little more than a year ago. And yet, the confession still blindsided her. Her mind became a wasp nest of conflicting thoughts and emotions, unsure what to do or how to respond. 

But once again, her body acted before her mind. 

_“...O Surfal'Ana.”_

Anevay’s eyes widened a fraction and she pulled back from the hug to look Sylvanas in the eye. “...Did you just…” she trailed off as she felt a lump in her throat. 

“...Yes,” Sylvanas nodded, struggling to maintain eye contact. “...I had barely come to grips with that realization myself… and of course, fate forced me to reveal it before I was ready.”

Anevay looked away and nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be thrown through that portal. I… if I come back, can we talk about this?”

“If you come back, we will do whatever you wish,” Sylvanas said earnestly, her trembling hands gripping tightly to the other woman.

Anevay’s hands lifted from Sylvanas’ sides to the back of her neck. “Thank you. I really will try. I’m not going to just give up. I can’t promise results, but I can promise an effort.”

Sylvanas shuddered as she felt those blessed hands on the bare skin of her neck. By the Endless Dark, her touch was so good. Why did she have to leave? 

“...Okay,” Sylvanas said, fighting to regain a sense of composure. 

Once again, Anevay felt that dreadful chill run up her spine. There was more she wanted to say. More she wanted to do. She knew if she didn’t she’d regret it. She knew if she just left like this she would hate herself for the rest of her life. Her eyes fell onto Sylvanas’ lips. This close, she could see how cracked and dry her skin was. It peeled at the corners like snakeskin, a staunch reminder of everything that changed in undeath.

And that didn’t deter her in the slightest. She gently pulled on the back of Sylvanas’ neck and stood on her toes, inching closer to her. Her breath quivered with nervousness as she met Sylvanas’ eyes again. She didn’t close the rest of the way, however. She was silently asking if this was okay, and hoping Sylvanas understood.

Her crimson eyes blew wide again. Realization and shock froze her body in place. Anevay made her intentions very clear, but she didn’t take the initiative. She was giving Sylvanas a choice. A chance to back out and return behind the cold, ruthless mask she was known for. To pretend this whole exchange never happened and spending the remainder of Anevay’s absence trying to forget it. Perhaps, after seeing how much hurt Sylvanas endured from daring to trust again, she wouldn’t blame her for turning away. 

But Sylvanas would blame herself. 

Her eyes fluttered closed, caution thoroughly dashed to the wind. 

Ice cold lips met molten hot.

Anevay practically melted against the taller woman, her arms wrapping around Sylvanas’ neck and pulling her closer. Tighter. Her lips were so unbelievably, intoxicatingly cold. They soothed and quelled the near-constant fire that burned in her every hour of every day. It was everything she’d imagined it would be, and a small part of her died as she realized this might be the only time she’d ever do this.

Sylvanas… Sylvanas felt damned near _alive_. 

The inferno of life energy that Anevay exuded was all encompassing. It enveloped her. It touched her in ways she never thought it could. It brought the phantom sensation of a heartbeat tearing through her undead coil. She could feel it. She could _taste_ it. A powerful moan rose in her throat and shook throughout Anevay’s very being. The kiss was overwhelming and simultaneously lacking. Sylvanas was drowning in the passion and heat, and yet craved more of it to fill her. She deepened the kiss, chasing the enhanced sensation as her tongue hungrily explored the blood elf’s mouth. If this was truly the last chance she had to do this, she was going to make sure the memory remained forever.

Anevay desperately wanted to stay like this. To forget the world and it’s troubles. Forget about the Horde, the invasion, everything. To just stay here, wrapped in her Queen’s embrace, doing what she had dreamed of doing since she was nine. Damn Vol’jin, damn Garrosh, damn all of Azeroth!

But not with _him_ lurking out there. 

She reluctantly pulled away, gasping for breath and tears rolling down her cheeks. “...I have to go.”

 _‘Dammit, not now!’_ Sylvanas thought. 

“...I know,” she said aloud, her grip slacking slightly. The sight of tears trickling down those perfectly freckled cheeks hurt her in a way that Frostmourne never could. “...I’ll be waiting.”

Anevay let go of her and stepped back. It felt harder to leave now than it had before they’d kissed. She debated whether to say goodbye or just turn around and leave. But her thoughts were stopped when Sylvanas took her hand and pressed something into her palm. Looking down she saw a silver, sapphire necklace in her hand. The same necklace she’d pulled off a cultist seven years prior.

“What is…”

“Take it with you,” Sylvanas said quietly. “Bring it back to me when you return.”

Anevay looked up in surprise, wiping her eyes with her empty hand. “Sylvanas, I can’t take this…”

“I won’t take it back,” Sylvanas said, retreating a step and placing her arms behind her. “And I know you won’t rid yourself of it just to spite me.”

Anevay looked back down at the pendant in her hand. Sylvanas had tried to act as if it meant nothing to her when she’d first returned it, but Anevay had caught too much of her initial surprise. She knew how precious this was to her, and how much trust she was placing in Anevay to come back.

She squeezed it and nodded. “I’ll be sure to return it,” she nodded. “Goodbye, Sylvanas.”

“Safe journey’s Anevay,” Sylvanas nodded in kind, doing everything she could not to fall apart.

Anevay finally turned her back on Sylvanas and walked out the Throne Room door. She tried not to start crying again, but it was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. For all she knew, this would be the last time she ever saw her Queen again.

* * *

Anevay joined Thrall, Khadgar and Maraad at the front of their combined forces as they waited for an opening to charge. This was it. She was about to run through that wretched portal, and possibly never return.

“Champion,” Khadgar nodded. “I’m glad to see you finally joined us.”

“I was saying goodbye to someone very dear to me,” Anevay said quietly. Her voice was hoarse from crying on the zeppelin ride, and she touched Sylvanas’ pendant as it hung around her neck.

“Well I hope it was a memorable goodbye,” Khadgar replied back, power rising in his open palms as his gaze was fixed on the Dark Portal. “We’re about to be in the thick of it.”

“Mmhmm,” Anevay nodded as she drew her warblade and stared down the churning, roiling portal. “Garrosh better put up a damn good fight to justify this. Or else he’s going to be having a stern talking to from Brynja. Are our supplies from Orgrimmar and Stormwind ready?”

“They are,” Thrall confirmed, gesturing behind them.

Anevay turned her head to see two fully stocked enchanted wagons surrounded by the strike team they had assembled. Two… and only two.

“Wait that’s it?” Anevay asked incredulously. “Please tell me they’re at least bigger on the outside or something!” 

“It will be enough to get us by until we establish a base,” Khadgar countered. “Don’t worry. We’ve done this before.”

Anevay balked at Khadgar and glanced around at their combined forces. “Khadgar, you… is the Blight ready to go at the very least?”

“The what?”

“The Blight! Chemical weapon? Kills everything it touches? Forsaken siege weapon of choice?” Anevay asked. “I ordered enough for twelve assaults.”

“You did,” Thrall confirmed. “I disposed of them.”

“WHAT!?”

“I do not know how exactly we will win this war, but it will not be with that weapon,” Thrall huffed. “We will win with honor, or not at all.”

Anevay’s eye twitched as she grabbed Thrall by the scruff of his neck and yanked him down to her level, glaring murderously at the Shaman. “Listen to me, you blithering buffoon! You conscripted me for this ridiculous suicide mission! Vol’jin put me in command of the Horde! So we’re going to fight this war my way or I’ll throw your severed head through the portal! If it hadn’t been for you, **_none of this would have happened!_ ** So if you’re demanding I clean up another of your messes, you are **_not_ **going to question my methods!”

“Lady Darkflare?” came a soft voice behind them.

Anevay turned to see a hundred Dark Rangers along with a contingent of apothecaries rolling up several covered wagons.

“Thrall’s words are presumptuous. The Blight is ready to deploy on your command,” Kalira smiled at her.

Anevay exhaled a very loud sigh of relief. “Oh, thank _fuck_ for you, Kalira!”

Kalira chuckled. “We had presumed that the Shaman would try something like this, so we placed enough barrels in plain sight to make him think he got them all.”

Thrall balked in disbelief before a deep knit formed in his brow. “We have not even begun the assault and you are already acting against us?” 

“With all due respect, orc,” Kalira said none to kindly. “We take orders from Commander Darkflare. Not you.” 

“Remember Thrall. For the duration of this campaign, you take orders from me!” Anevay growled as she forced Thrall forward. “Now eyes forward. I won’t tolerate insubordination from the likes of you.”

Kalira smiled and approached her, laying a hand on Anevay’s shoulder. Anevay surprised her by seizing her by the shoulders and pulling her into a tight hug. “You are a lifesaver, Kalira!” she said emphatically, kissing the Dark Ranger’s cheek. “Thank you.”

Kalira was caught off guard and visibly flustered, the glow of her eyes shining through her face. “I uh… thank you, Lady Darkflare.” She was still _so_ warm.

All of them had their attention diverted when the Dark Portal flared one final time, and then it’s roiling surface settled into a smooth shimmer.

“This is our chance!” Khadgar declared. “Storm the Portal!”


	2. A Protective, Sentimental, Easily Flustered Cougar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COME GET YOUR DEPRESSED ELF LESBIANS!

**One Year Later**

A contingent of tired, bruised and injured soldiers returned from Orgrimmar, slumped over their mounts and barely responding to the cheers and applause from the citizens. The entire surviving force had returned to Orgrimmar before heading out to their respective homes for the celebration, despite the fact that all of them were clearly weary and wanted to rest. At the front were Thrall, Lady Liadrin and Rok’han, all of them looking various degrees of ‘tired.’ Liadrin even had dark circles under her eyes.

Vol’jin, Baine and Lor’themar stepped forward to greet them, and Vol’jin noticed a rather noteworthy absence from the group.

“Thrall, Rokhan,” he greeted fondly before politely greeting Liadrin. “It’s good to see you made it home.”

“Good to be home, Warchief,” Rokhan said with a dutiful bow. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t sure if we would make it back for awhile.” 

Vol’jin gave him a good natured laugh before turning his attention to Thrall. His smile fell when he noticed just how somber his friend appeared. “...I take it that the Iron Horde has been defeated.” 

“Yes,” Thrall said, nodding in confirmation. “However, I fear that this victory has come with an even greater threat just over the horizon.”

“You’re gonna have to tell me later. The soldiers deserve a day to rest and celebrate,” Vol’jin clapped his hand on Thrall’s shoulder as he looked among the head of the ranks. “I take it Darkflare didn’t survive?”

“Darkflare? She’s right-” Liadrin looked over her shoulder to see the space behind her to be notably absent. No Darkflare and no Velonara. “...Wait, where is she?”

Thrall and Rohkan turned their heads and saw that the Horde Commander and the Dark Ranger was not behind them, dawning similar expressions of confusion. 

An Orc grunt stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Warchief, Anevay took a ferry to Lordaeron when we made landfall in the Blasted Lands along with the Dark Rangers.”

“Seriously?” Vol’jin balked. “Not on Kalimdor for two minutes and they already run back to the Undercity?” The Warchief groaned, bringing a hand the rub at the aching throb behind his eyes. “Unbelievable. And to think I was about to give a toast to her at the celebration.”

“Warchief, she was actually in a really bad state,” the grunt explained, stepping out of the group to approach Vol’jin and Thrall. “We had resource and food shortages almost the moment we made landfall. Our supplies were good for a strike force, not an army. Darkflare fed and sheltered the troops from the bottom up. Peons and foot soldiers first, command last. As a result she barely ate or slept through the entire campaign.”

“I didn’t ask for a full report, warrior,” the troll huffed. “Nor did I ask you to be indignant on the Commander’s behalf. If she has any grievances about this campaign, she can tell me herself in her own report.”

The grunt looked taken aback, and there was a murmur among the Orcs and Forsaken still standing in battle ranks. A few even glared at the Warchief. Despite her reputation among the Horde’s leaders, Anevay had always been respected by the soldiers. And after the Draenor Campaign, the peons thought highly of her as well.

“With all due respect, Warchief, that’s extremely callous,” the grunt huffed.

“Noted,” Vol’jin said plainly. “In any case, the warriors who are still here are to be commended for your bravery and dedication. Come, take a moment’s rest in the Hold before we commence with the festivities. Rest assured this celebration has been highly anticipated for Orgrimmar.”

* * *

Anevay was helped off her horse by Kalira, who braced the exhausted blood elf against her as she helped her into the Undercity. “I should take you to the apothecarium first, but if you’d rather report directly to the Dark Lady I’ll bring you there.”

“Apothecarium,” Anevay said, her voice hoarse and strained. “You can tell her where I am.”

Kalira nodded and pulled Anevay along with her towards the Apothecarium. This campaign had earned her the respect of her fellow soldiers a thousand times over as she kept as many people alive on next to no resources for as long as she possibly could. Those first months had been so horrible for everyone, and the Forsaken troops had been forced to pick up the slack of the starving living until Anevay could get a proper food supply going. And even then food had to be rationed.  She wasn’t really running an army. Frostwall had practically turned into a small town with how much they had to provide for themselves on such short notice.

She set Anevay down on the apothecary’s bench and left to find Sylvanas while the Champion was looked over.  One of the robed figures on the other end of the room turned from her work to see Anevay patiently waiting. Though their face was mostly concealed under a hood and mask, her yellow eyes clearly widened with surprise. 

“Lady Darkflare?” she inquired in disbelief. “Incredible! I was certain we would never see you again after you left to fight the Iron Horde!” 

“So was I,” Anevay said. “Can we do this quickly? I really want to go to bed.”

“Certainly!” the apothecary said in an almost bubbly tone as she gathered some materials and walked over to the Blood Elf. “Who am I to keep the Dark Lady’s favorite Champion waiting?”

“Thanks,” Anevay nodded.

Twenty minutes into her examination, the door burst open and Sylvanas came storming into the Apothecarium. She looked frantically around before her eyes landed on Anevay and the apothecary looking over her and something within her seemed to… ease. She hurried over and laid a hand on Anevay’s shoulder, gently guiding the exhausted elf to look at her.

“...Anevay,” Sylvanas whispered, looking at her with the kind of awe often reserved for laying eyes on a Titan or Naaru. “It’s really you.”

“Hello, my Queen,” Anevay said, offering a sincere, if rather weary smile. “It’s… good to see you.” 

“It’s good to see you too,” Sylvanas whispered, her fingers digging into Anevay’s shoulder.

“Easy, Dark Lady,” the apothecary said, gently prying her hand off Anevay’s shoulder. “In the state she’s in you could do some serious damage if you’re not careful.”

Sylvanas’ brow furrowed as she suddenly looked more carefully at Anevay. As the rose tinted gaze brought on by the sheer relief of seeing her again started to fade, she began noticing a great many things. 

Most notably, Anevay looked absolutely gastly. 

Her face was slightly more angular that Sylvanas remembered and her skin looked thinner. Tell tale signs of malnourishment. Her eyes were circled with darkness that suggested a severe lack of rest, not helped by how the glow of her Fel green eyes seemed dim and lifeless now.  Her upper body was relieved of her usual saronite armor (which also had seen better days) as the Apothecary tended to her. As such, Sylvanas could see further evidence of Anevay’s malnourishment as bones seemed to practically jut out of her skin with how little tissue she had underneath. She nearly looked Forsaken. 

“By the Endless Dark,” she gasped softly as a surge of protectiveness washed over her. “What happened?”

“The Horde gave us… almost no supplies,” Anevay explained as the apothecary continued to examine her. “Everything had to be secured on our own. Lumber for a base, steel for armor and weapons, food… and even when we had decent supply lines, everything was still scarce. We didn’t have enough food and beds for everyone most of the time. I fed and sheltered everyone from the bottom up. Peons, workers and grunts first. Myself last…”

Something in Sylvanas’ stomach twisted uncomfortably at Anevay’s words. An act that was fascinating enough seeing as how it had been over a year since she had physically eaten  _ anything _ .  A part of her wanted to chastise Anevay for being so careless. For not listening to Sylvanas when she told her to focus on her own survival above all else. For not doing everything she could to ensure she came back alive. 

_ ‘...But she  _ did _ come back alive,’ _ she told herself, putting an end to that worry induced rant before it could even begin. Perhaps she would do so later, when Anevay was feeling better. 

“I see…” she said softly. “...And the campaign?” In truth, Sylvanas didn’t truly care. Anevay had returned to her alive and intact. That was all that concerned her at the moment.

“Iron Horde was defeated. Burning Legion could be a threat,” Anevay said, leaning against Sylvanas for support. “I’m so tired…”

“It’s no wonder,” the apothecary shook her head. She retreated to a large cabinet and took out a large vial of a brown potion and another large vial of a red potion. “I want you to drink these throughout the night. And for the next four weeks you’re going to be taking a vial of them every day. Blood potions and nutrition elixirs. Your body needs time to repair itself so you shouldn’t be put on any assignments for those four weeks. Understood?”

“Tell that to Vol’jin,” Anevay said, taking the bottles and nodding.

“ _ I _ will tell Vol’jin,” Sylvanas said firmly, raising a hand to rest it on Anevay’s shoulder. Gently this time. She wouldn’t risk hurting her further in this state. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve earned four  _ years _ of recovery time at a minimum. “If our Warchief takes issue with that, he can go sit on a cactus.”

Anevay smiled up at her, setting the bottles in her lap. “Thanks, my Queen,” she said. She reached up and unclipped the necklace from around her neck and gently placed it into Sylvanas’ hand. “Here.”

Sylvanas looked down at the sapphire pendant that rested in her open palm. The one she gave to Anevay on the condition that she gave it back when she returned. As the months dragged on, she began to feel as though giving her this pendant with the belief that it would be returned was just a sliver of false hope that she foolishly gave to herself. It was only last week that she began to believe that she would never see Anevay again. That she would vanish from her life just like Alleria.  And yet, here Anevay was, defying the odds. Again. 

She closed her hand around the pendant, her grip shaking as she suddenly couldn’t speak past the growing lump in her throat. 

“Dark Lady, would you be so kind as to escort Lady Darkflare to her quarters?” the apothecary asked as she helped Anevay to her feet. “And make sure she drinks her elixirs?”

“I’ll feed them to her, if I must,” Sylvanas said, a slight smile in her voice as she eased Anevay back up to her feet. 

“Excellent,” the apothecary nodded. “Rest well, Champion. You’ve more than earned it.”

* * *

Only a single day had passed and already Anevay was getting letters from Orgrimmar demanding she report to Grommash Hold. Sylvanas intercepted every single one while Anevay was resting. As soon as she was brought to her quarters, she drank her elixirs and passed out in her bed. She hadn’t so much as woken up in the last twenty four hours, and Sylvanas was dreading having to wake her for her next dose of blood and nutrition elixirs.  She quietly wondered why she needed blood elixirs when for the most part she seemed to lack any bleeding wounds. Alas, she wasn’t the apothecary, so her questions went unspoken. As confident as Sylvanas was in her own capabilities, she knew when to let the specialists just do their job. 

She eyed the elixirs that rested on her writing desk as she tended to some reports. The rush of emotions she experienced just by looking at them felt surreal and borderline overwhelming. 

In Anevay’s absence, Sylvanas began to feel more and more… numb as time went on. Emotions felt far away and she could reliably be the cold and calculated Banshee Queen the Horde was known for. The only feeling that she could reliably tap into was anger, something she had in excess.  Then, when Kalira came into her throne room and informed her that she and Anevay had returned, suddenly all the emotions that felt out of reach struck her like a warhammer. Shock, panic, yearning and desperation prompted her to launch out of her throne and dash like a madwoman for the Apothecarium. In that time, nothing mattered more to her than seeing Anevay again. 

She picked up something else Anevay had given her before she passed out. A thick, leather-bound journal. She said it would serve as her full report, and to give it to Vol’jin after reading it herself. She hadn’t yet, and in truth she was dreading it after hearing Anevay’s abridged version of events. She slipped it into a drawer and stood up. She’s brooded long enough. The Undercity wouldn’t run itself.

As she re-entered her throne room, she was met with Varok Saurfang flanked by two Orc grunts. She raised an eyebrow at him as she sat down on her throne. “High Overlord. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Dark Lady,” Varok said, politely inclining her head. “We have come to collect Champion Darkflare. She has been ignoring the Warchief’s summons to Orgrimmar, so he sent us to bring her to him.” 

“That unfortunately isn’t possible right now,” Sylvanas said, casually drumming her clawed gauntlets against the arm of her throne. “Champion Darkflare fell unconscious shortly after arriving. With the battered and weary state she was in, my Apothecaries have insisted that she will need at least four weeks before she is well enough to travel to Orgrimmar.”

A considerably warped version of the truth, but not a technical lie. Sylvanas found such tactics to be incredibly handy when dealing with difficult people.

“I do have her full report on her campaign against the Iron Horde, however,” Sylvanas said, directing attention to the meaty journal in her other hand. “If you wouldn’t mind being patient, you can deliver this to him once I have finished going over it.”

“The report isn’t the concern, Sylvanas,” Varok said. Sylvanas watched him carefully, and his tone and posture was rather… forced. As if he didn’t actually want to be here. “The Warchief needs Darkflare for a skirmish on the border of Dustwallow. Burning Legion cultists are getting bolder as of late.”

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes at the old orc. “I think you might have misheard me, High Overlord,” she said curtly. “Darkflare is currently  _ unavailable _ . Full stop. Even if Darkflare wished to rush back onto the front lines, her body is in no condition to do so. If you simply need forces to send to Dustwallow, I’m sure I have some Rangers to spare. If the Warchief insists on Darkflare herself, then he’s shit out of luck.”

“You’re getting upset with the wrong person, Sylvanas,” Varok said calmly. “I fully understand the situation. The Warchief and Thrall on the other hand… their behavior is rather strange. One of the grunts explained the situation regarding Darkflare to Vol’jin when they arrived, and he just dismissed it. It’s why I agreed to come collect her. Have you noticed this with them before?”

Sylvanas’ head tilted almost curiously. In truth, she had been expecting the High Overlord to be especially difficult about all of this. Perhaps she was expecting behavior not unlike that demonstrated by Thrall and Garrosh. This was rather surprising.

“...Copiously,” Sylvanas nodded, rising from her throne as she addressed Saurfang. “And not just from those two. Regent Lord Lor’themar has always been dismissive of Darkflare’s physical and mental well being. It’s as if all her previous victories have only ever convinced them that she is some sort of magic weapon that never requires repair or maintenance.” The crease in her brow deepened as she thought about how disastrously the rest of the Horde treated Anevay. “It’s that dismissive behavior that drove her to find refuge here in the Undercity.”

“Darkflare did have a habit for pulling triple shifts and charging recklessly,” Varok nodded as he stroked his chin. “Thrall describes her conduct on Draenor as dishonorable, but the soldiers have more respect for her than I’ve ever seen a Commander have. That’s quite a contrast.”

“Darkflare has always shown respect and care to her brothers and sisters in arms and receive such in kind,” Sylvanas confirmed before a mischievous grin crept on her face. “She simply has a habit of taking the piss out of those who deem themselves her superiors. A habit she might have picked up from me.” 

“I suspected as much,” Varok nodded with a huff. “If memory serves, Darkflare has been mouthy and belligerent with every leader of the Horde except you.”

“I try not to be dismissive of her concerns or needs,” the Banshee Queen clarified. “Darkflare is a valuable asset, but she still needs care.”

“I see. There has been speculation as to why you are the sole exception,” Varok nodded. “Lor’themar suggests she’s under a spell. Thrall suspects fraternization. If what you tell me is true, the answer is far more simple than that.”

Sylvanas resisted the urge to bristle at the mention of ‘fraternization’. In truth, nothing of the sort really occurred between them apart from their very emotional goodbye a year ago. She didn’t even know if Anevay was still interested in such a thing anymore, given what she had recently endured. Still, if Vol’jin and the others were expecting such things, that could make matters more difficult for them in the future. Professionally or otherwise. 

“Yes, well perhaps if the truth of the situation is explained to them by the esteemed High Overlord,” Sylvanas said silkily, “then we can possibly be free of this mess of paranoia.”

“I can do that,” Varok nodded. “I will need to speak with her before I leave, however.”

“I don’t intend to disru-” Sylvanas stopped and clinked the vials in her hand together, remembering she had to wake her anyway. “...Actually, she has to drink her elixirs. Perhaps it’s best I wake her now.”

She stepped down the dias to the throne and made for the corridor that led to Anevay’s chambers. With her free hand, she beckoned Varok to follow. She heard his heavy footsteps as he began trailing behind her. It was good that his presence was so noticeable. Recent experiences taught her to dislike the idea of anyone quiet being to her back. 

They made it to Anevay’s door. For the sake of courtesy, she rapt against the oak of the closed entrance, checking to see if the blood elf would awaken from the sound.

There was the sound of rustling from the inside, and footsteps approaching the door. The locks clicked and Anevay opened the door, looking like she’d just woken up and with a cloak wrapped around her. “Sylvanas?” she asked sleepily, an arm reaching out from under her cloak to rub at her eyes.

“Darkflare,” Sylvanas said politely and professionally, despite how intensely she felt the urge to just throw her arms around the adorably drowsy elf. Instead, she lifted the bottles in her grip for Anevay to see. “I have come to provide you with your elixirs. Also, you have a guest.”

Anevay’s sleepy eyes trailed over to Saurfang, and she yelped in surprise, gripping the cloak tighter around herself. “Saurfang? What do you want?” she asked, taking the vials from Sylvanas in her fingers and inviting them inside. 

Varok narrowed his eyes as he looked Anevay over. In truth, she did seem particularly worse for wear, and this apparently was after she had some time to rest. He couldn’t fathom what she must have looked like when she first arrived here.  “The Warchief has requested that I bring you straight to Orgrimmar so that he can direct you to your next assignment,” the old orc explained. “Sylvanas has told me that you do not possess the fortitude for such an ordeal after only just arriving from Draenor… and I see that she is correct.”

Anevay sat down on the sofa, still clutching her cloak around herself as Sylvanas and Saurfang sat in the armchairs. “I don’t really remember much of when I got back, to be completely honest,” Anevay shook her head, glancing at Sylvanas. “I gave you back your necklace, right? Because otherwise it’s not around my neck anymore.”

Saurfang arched a quizzical brow at Sylvanas, a silent question in his eyes. 

Sylvanas responded by lifting the pendant up from beneath her cowl. “It was a gift from my late sister,” Sylvanas explained. “I gave it to Darkflare as a memento, should she never return.”

Saurfang furrowed his brow as he looked between the two. Anevay seemed to have realized her mistake and cleared her throat. “The Dark Lady and I are friends, Saurfang,” she said. “We have been since before the Fall.”

“Is that right?” Saurfang inquired cautiously. 

“Indeed,” Sylvanas nodded, her visage calm and reserved. “When I was still the Ranger General of Silvermoon, she served as one of my Farstriders. Since the fall we have since reconnected.”

“Hmm,” Varok said, before finally shrugging. “I’ll have to take your word for it. I know very little of Quel’Thalas. Anyway, Darkflare, I intend to confirm what Sylvanas has told me about you to the Warchief. I can’t guarantee he will listen, but my report will carry additional weight in Orgrimmar.”

“Thanks,” Anevay nodded.

Saurfang’s eyes trailed down to Anevay’s neck, noticing several bruises and healing puncture wounds. “What’s that on your neck?”

“Hmm?” Anevay reached up and touched the sensitive spots on her neck. “Oh, needle marks. I had blood drawn regularly by the apothecaries under my command.”

Sylvanas’ eyes widened a fraction at Anevay’s words. Questions and concerns began buzzing in her mind so loudly that her composed mask nearly slipped before she spoke. “...And why was that, Darkflare?”

“Indeed. I’m curious as well,” Saurfang nodded.

“My blood is an ingredient in an elixir that can heal the undead,” Anevay explained. “Since we had little food available, the Dark Rangers and Deathguard couldn’t reliably consume flesh to regenerate so we had to rely on the elixir. It’s not a major concern. I had a vial drawn every three weeks, that was about it.”

Sylvanas suddenly felt that surge of protective exasperation rise within her again. The temptation to deride Anevay for not listening to her and prioritizing her own survival was damned near irresistible in that moment. Still, it wouldn’t suit either of them to act out over that. Especially when the High Overlord was present. “I see,” Sylvanas said, forcing any and all emotion from her voice as she gently pushed the bottles of elixir over to Anevay. “Then I can only assume that is what these are for.”

“Yeah,” Anevay nodded, taking the elixirs. She popped the red elixir first and drank it down in a single gulp. “Toward the end, the Forsaken troops were our most valuable and they needed to be kept in fighting shape or we were all doomed. A few other blood elves volunteered to have blood drawn, thankfully.”

Sylvanas’ gaze turned to the thick journal that she had since latched to her belt. “I presume the details of this can be found in your full report?”

“Mmhmm,” Anevay nodded, laying her head back against the sofa as she drank the nutrition elixir. “I did what you asked me to, Dark Lady. Took more than I thought it would, but I did it.”

“What did you ask her to do?” Saurfang asked, turning to the Dark Lady. 

Sylvanas wished that she had answered that query without missing a beat. Alas, it took her a moment to muster a response that wasn’t ‘For her to come back to me.’ 

“I believe my exact words to her were… Come back alive,” she answered.

Saurfang nodded. Of course she would say that. The elves and Forsaken didn’t value a warrior’s death the way the Orcs did. Anevay had routinely sneered at the idea to Hellscream on many occasions, and it seemed that belief was not mere spite to the former Warchief. “I see. Very well, then.”

A sigh of relief threatened to rise in Sylvanas’ throat. “I trust you have everything you need to make her case to the Warchief?”

“Yes I do,” Saurfang nodded as he stood up and nodded to the both of them. “Thank you for your time, Darkflare.”

“No problem,” Anevay said with a wave. “Now hurry up and go, I’m not exactly decent under this cloak.”

Varok gave a conceding wave of his hand as he made his way towards the door.  Sylvanas silently wondered if she should leave the room with him for the sake of appearance, but in the moment that she had taken to mentally debating the matter she heard the door shot with a click. Suddenly she and Darkflare were alone.

Anevay smiled at Sylvanas and slid over to the other side of the sofa, closer to her chair. “I didn’t get to speak with you like I wanted to when I came back,” she said, fiddling with her cloak.

Sylvanas was about to ask what Anevay meant when the memory of her words suddenly came to the forefront of her mind. 

_ “I… if I come back, can we talk about this?” _

_ This _ meaning their feelings for one another. Something they both had only just came to grips with when Anevay was being ushered through the Dark Portal with no sure way back home. The timing of that mutual realization was almost comically off.  The Banshee had spent so long wondering if they would ever get the chance to have that discussion. Now that it seemed to be upon them… she truthfully did not know what to say. Even meeting Anevay’s gaze suddenly felt too much now that they began to shine with that fiery spirit she remembered.

“...If… if anything has changed,” Sylvanas began. “If you feel at all differently, for whatever reason… you have my full understanding.” She wasn’t sure why she even said that. Somehow, it just felt polite to offer Anevay an out. An excuse to disregard what they had discovered together for whatever reason.

“That’s good,” Anevay smiled. Then she sat forward on the edge of the sofa, reaching an arm out from under her cloak to grasp Sylvanas’ chestplate and pull her in, kissing her softly.

Since Anevay had departed a year ago, Sylvanas’ world had returned to numbness. Physically as well as emotionally. Without Anevay’s presence or contact, her muted tactile senses had nothing to stimulate her. After a brief month of almost painful withdrawal, she resigned herself to the numbness.  Suddenly, sensation came crashing back into her world. Anevay’s lips were either more molten hot than she remembered or the withdrawal was worse than she thought. Either way, it only took her a moment of shock before she returned the kiss. 

Anevay could only hold onto Sylvanas with one arm while the other clutched at the cloak she was using to cover herself, but it was better than nothing. She released her armor and wrapped it around her neck as she practically melted against her. She too had resigned herself to the idea that she was never going back home, but once she’d had some sleep she couldn’t think about anything else but chasing the Dark Lady’s chill once more. She’d actually been irritated when Sylvanas arrived with Saurfang, as it meant she was forced to wait even longer.

At least sleeping was fast.

Their lips glided together smoothly as they savored the intense sensation the other gave them. A chilled arm wrapped around the small of Anevay’s back, pulling her as closely as she could. Sylvanas released a long repressed sigh of relief that shook through the blood elf’s entire being.  After a moment or two, they withdrew, Anevay breathing heavily to compensate for the air she had been neglecting. Sylvanas did not need to fill her lungs with the same desperation as the other woman, but she still looked almost sheepish. 

“...I was worried you might have changed your mind by the time you returned,” she admitted, averting her eyes.

“I was worried about the same thing,” Anevay smiled. “I’m glad you gave me the out. Saved me the awkwardness of having to offer it to you.”

Sylvanas chuckled wryly, resting her forehead against Anevay’s. By the Hungering Dark, it felt good to hold this woman so closely again! The warmth she gave off bled into her undead body, and with it, pure, unadulterated euphoria. 

“...I missed you so much, Anevay,” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly.

“I missed you too,” Anevay whispered, clutching tightly to her cloak. “That was one of the worst years of my life. You have no idea how happy I am to be back home.”

“As happy as I am to have you back home, perhaps,” Sylvanas said cheekily, before all of her wit suddenly melted in Anevay’s arms. “...I’m sorry that you had to endure that. I… I should have fought harder to keep you here. What you endured… it was monstrous.”

“It was horrible,” Anevay said, her elation slowly fading away as her clear head filled with memories of that horrible, frozen hellscape she was forced to build her base in. And the Garn they had to hunt for food. “Every single day I just wanted that nightmare to… wait, where’s Skash’ka? I need to see my wolf.”

“She’s with the animal handlers,” Sylvanas said gently, bringing a hand up to tenderly cup Anevay’s cheek. “I ensured that she was properly tended to in your absence. But we can go see her if you wish. I’ll step outside so that you can get dressed.”

“Thanks,” Anevay smiled. “We can talk after I’ve seen my dog.”

* * *

Anevay and Sylvanas arrived at the stables in Brill to find Skash’ka napping in one of the pens. It was large, but not quite large enough for the Garn to live comfortably in. When she pointed this out, the stablehands informed her that she only slept in the pens and was free to wander the fields during the day. This pacified Anevay and she entered the pen and sat down beside Skash’ka, running her fingers through the Garn’s fur as she woke up.

“Hey sweetie,” Anevay cooed, laying against her wolf and wrapping her arms around her. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Skash’ka’s nose wiggled as she caught a familiar scent. Her eyes snapped open as she rolled over to eagerly lap at Anevay’s face. Her tail wagged furiously as she continued to lick and nuzzle the blood elf.

“Easy there,” Sylvanas chided gently. “Your master is still recovering.”

Anevay giggled and eagerly accepted the wolf’s affection. “Hey there! I missed you so much!” she cooed. Skash’ka’s barks and growls were enough to drown out the sound of Garn being harvested for meat and leather that became a near-constant background noise in Frostwall. She had refused to eat Garn meat while she was on Draenor. It’s not like she could have anyway, as the knowledge of where it had come from made her want to throw up. Getting to hug and pet Skash’ka again eased the pain of those memories.

The Garn rolled over on her back, prompting Anevay to happily rub her exposed belly. Skash’ka writhed on the ground with the utmost of glee, relishing in the pleasurable sensation that she was denied for a year straight.  Sylvanas had to admit that the exchange was utterly adorable, and seeing Anevay this happy was a welcome sight to say the least. She leaned against a nearby post, silently watching the two of them reconnecting. 

Anevay kissed the top of Skash’ka’s head and cooed softly, looking up at Sylvanas and smiling. “Thanks for taking care of her.”

“She is important to you, so she is important to me,” Sylvanas said simply. “I couldn’t neglect her even if I wanted to. Besides. She’s a good listener.” 

Skash’ka barked enthusiastically in response to that.

“Thank you,” Anevay said, her eyes half-lidded as she smiled up at Sylvanas. “You’re so kind to me, and I appreciate it.”

“My kindness is the very least I can do for you,” Sylvanas said earnestly, surprisingly unconcerned with the notion of anyone possibly overhearing them. “You’ve done more for me than you realize.”

Anevay kissed Skash’ka’s head again before standing up, shakily, and approaching Sylvanas. She wrapped her arms around her midsection and hugged her tightly. “I still appreciate it regardless.”

Sylvanas smiled, savoring the sensation of Anevay’s hold as a hand came up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Anevay’s ear. “And I appreciate you.”  It was then that Skash’ka let out a bark that sounded dangerously close to a laugh.  Sylvanas tilted her gaze to see the Garn open mouth smiling at the both of them. “And just what is so funny?” she asked, cocking a brow.

“She can tell,” Anevay said quietly as she nuzzled under Sylvanas’ chin.

“You can understand her?” Sylvanas cocked an eyebrow.

Anevay pulled back and raised an eyebrow as well. “Yeah? I’m a Ranger.”

Sylvanas blinked for a moment before letting out a low chuckle. “Oh my, and I am to assume she is your animal companion then?”

Anevay nodded with a smile. “It’s why I don’t take her into battle. She’s too important to me to risk getting her hurt or worse.”

“So you’re saying that I should not allow you to go into battle again?” Sylvanas asked with a gentle smile.

Anevay’s smile turned into a smirk. “You know how much I love being a soldier, Horde overworking me notwithstanding. You wouldn’t take that from me, would you?”

Sylvanas tapped a finger to her chin, as if genuinely contemplating the notion. “...No, I suppose I wouldn’t,” Sylvanas said with a smile. “I would just rather not have you vanish on me for years at a time if I can help it.” 

“I’ll try not to make a habit of that, I promise,” Anevay nodded, letting go of her and smiling. “So… I think we should talk about…” she gestured between them. “This.”

A sliver of nervousness cut through the otherwise joyful air about the both of them. It was more a reflexive thing than predicated on any evidence. That little voice that always told her that things were about to go horribly wrong.

“Very well,” she nodded. “Would you like to talk here or... back home?”

“Back home would be best,” Anevay smiled, squeezing Sylvanas’ hand.

* * *

They sat down in Anevay’s quarters later that afternoon, the elf fumbling with her fingers awkwardly. She needed to have this conversation with Sylvanas, but that didn’t make it any less nerve-wracking. Had it been literally anybody else this would have been easy. But Sylvanas was someone she respected and looked up to so much that the idea of being anything  _ more  _ with her filled her with anxiety. That tends to happen when you’ve had these kind of feelings for someone since you were a child.

“So… what is this?” she asked, looking up at the Banshee Queen. “I’m okay with whatever you want… us… to be, but I’d rather it be settled now before any misunderstandings can be had.”

Sylvanas was quiet for a time after the question was asked. Mostly because she was trying to answer it for herself. For a while there was no sound between them. There wasn’t even the gentle crackling of a fire burning in the hearth. The Fel that burned in Anevay’s blood removed the need for such a thing. 

“...I have an idea of what I would… like this to be,” Sylvanas said, her voice lacking it’s usual power and sounding near inaudibly soft. “...I just fear that something will happen to ruin it. If not the Alliance or Horde, then my own ineptitude.”

“Well what is it?” Anevay asked, sliding closer to her and laying a hand on her knee. “You can tell me.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the gentleness of Anevay’s voice, the sudden proximity, or the physical contact, but Sylvanas suddenly felt compelled to be frank and open.  “...I want you to be mine,” she admitted, finding the courage to meet Anevay’s gaze. “Completely and utterly.”

“And what exactly is ‘being yours, completely and utterly?’” Anevay asked as she looked up at Sylvanas nervously. “Because I can think of two things that could be.”

Sylvanas’ lips pursed into a thin line. She was hoping that statement would be clear enough. Alas, with someone of her reputation, it was understandable to expect some ulterior motive.  She rested her hand atop Anevay’s, hoping the gesture would help her muster the courage to put her meaning into words. “...I wish to see your eyes flutter open when you awaken. I wish to seek refuge in your arms when the trials of the outside world become too daunting. I wish to know how to please you if you would let me. I… I want to be yours as deeply as you would be mine.” 

Anevay’s eyes widened slightly and she laid a hand on her chest. In truth, her ever-cynical mind had expected Sylvanas to respond with something considerably… for lack of a better word,  _ kinkier _ . To hear how genuine she sounded made her heart skip a beat. “That’s… that’s beautiful, my Queen…” she whispered.

Sylvanas felt the anxiety brought about by her vulnerable moment begin to ebb at Anevay’s words. “It’s how I truly feel,” she said. “I meant what I said a year ago and I mean it now. I love you, Anevay.”

Anevay’s eyes started to brim with tears and she nodded, taking Sylvanas’ hands in her own. “I want what you want. All of it. I had a lot of time to dwell on it on Draenor, and I realized this isn’t the childish crush I had for decades. I really want this, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it after our goodbye last year.”

Sylvanas felt the most blissful of shudder course through her undead coil as she felt Anevay squeeze her hand. She couldn’t help herself and suddenly pulled Anevay into a tight hug. She buried her face in the hair that draped down the nape of the blood elf’s neck, taking in the euphoric scent.  Anevay whimpered when Sylvanas hugged her and pressed herself tightly against her chest, feeling the heat be practically sapped away from her. She quietly wondered if her love of the cold that Sylvanas (and indeed the Dark Rangers) put out said something about her. “I love you too,” she whispered as she nuzzled into her neck. 

“Can… can I still call you ‘my Queen?’”

A beat of silence passed before Sylvanas let out a small giggle. “If you’d like,” she said, her voice melodious with a good natured laugh.

“Thanks,” Anevay whispered. “It’s weird I know, but… you’re my Queen and I don’t want that to change.”

“Even if I wished you to be a Queen at my side?” Sylvanas asked, almost immediately wanting to take the words back. She was suddenly thankful that Anevay could not see her face and silently prayed that those words wouldn’t prompt her to pull away. “...Forgive me, that was too forward.”

“It’s alright,” Anevay giggled, running her hand over Sylvanas’ back. “I like forward. But honestly, I’d like to be called something else if that were the case. If that’s not too much trouble. I… I like serving you, even if we’re going to do this.”

Sylvanas was quiet as she both mulled that information over and savored Anevay’s gentle ministrations. In truth, with how little she could feel outside of circumstances like these, being able to feel anything gently was borderline intoxicating. “I think I understand,” Sylvanas crooned gently, her fingers threading through Anevay’s hair. “No matter what, Anevay. I will always be your Queen.” 

“Thank you,” Anevay squeezed her tighter for a moment, before something dawned on her. Something she admitted to being afraid of a few years prior after… after the fiasco in Andorhal. She pulled away from Sylvanas to look her in the eye. “Oh wait, I almost forgot. ...Could you tell me how your feelings started?”

Sylvanas blinked, clearly surprised by the question. “...You mean, when I realized, or-?”

“Oh we were both there for that, my Queen,” Anevay said with a soft chuckle. “I meant when do you think those feelings began to develop?” 

Sylvanas’ brow furrowed as she looked back, considering every encounter she had with Anevay since the Fall. From her first arrival to the Undercity to the private fiasco with the elixir. She combed through the memories and her feelings on them to try and find when exactly this all started. 

“...I believe the origin of those feelings began… after the fallout with Vereesa,” she admitted.

“Really?” Anevay tilted her head. That had been only three days before Sylvanas had been pushed into confessing those feelings to her. “How?”  _ Please don’t say it was the tea,  _ she thought, grasping Sylvanas’ hands tightly.

“Because you saw me at one of my lowest points and didn’t think less of me,” Sylvanas said softly, finding the words coming more freely than she had anticipated. “Because you made an effort to help console me while still respecting my privacy. Because you showed me something I was foolish enough to keep forgetting. That you would never forsake me.” A warm smile grew on her face as she continued. “And with that came the realization of all the little things about you I adore. Your voice, your smile, your impossibly adorable freckles. It made me realize that everything about you, great or small, was something I couldn’t stand to be without.”

Anevay sighed with relief, a smile growing on her face as she moved back into Sylvanas’ embrace. “Anar’alah, I was worried it might have been from the fel in my blood. You have no idea how happy I am to be so wrong!” She kissed Sylvanas’ cheek and squeezed her tightly.

Sylvanas blinked, slowly realizing that Anevay likely had every reason to suspect that of her. Despite Anevay hugging her with palpable relief, a wave of what she could only describe as shame washed over her. “Anevay, I… I’m sorry I made you think that.”

“You didn’t make me think that,” Anevay shook her head. “It was just the possibility that worried me. I’m so happy to hear that it isn’t.”

“Oh… okay,” Sylvanas, feeling a steady flow of relief all her own. “Well, rest assured, while I love the fire that burns beneath your skin, it’s not the only thing I love.”

Anevay smiled and leaned in, hugging her tightly and laying her head against her chest. The sense of relief, of happiness, coursing through her was enough to make her dizzy. She could just fall asleep like this if she really wanted to. “There’s so much I love about you too,” she sighed.

“Oh?” A teasing, curious lilt could be heard in the Banshee’s voice. “Would it be narcissistic of me to inquire what they might be?”

“Well, there’s the way your lips twitch whenever your mask is slipping,” Anevay smiled, running the back of her fingers over Sylvanas’ cheek. “And the way the glow in your eyes will shine through your face when you’re angry or embarrassed. When I put my head on your chest I can hear something rumbling deep within like a growl or thunder. Did you know you scratch your palms when you’re nervous?”

Sylvanas blinked, lifting a hand from where it rested on her new lover’s back to inspect her palm. “...No, I… I did not know that.”

In truth, she was certainly surprised by Anevay’s answers. She was expecting her to say something about her bravery. Her dedication to her people. Her ferocity in battle. The things that the Blood Elf actually listed seemed far more mundane… and yet she couldn’t help but be flustered by it. Suddenly she realized how completely  _ known _ she was by Anevay, and that prospect actually made her feel giddy rather than terrified.  “When… did you notice these things?”

“The first few months,” Anevay settled against her, actually cuddling up to the Banshee Queen. “By then I was fairly confident I could tell when something was bothering you. But I can’t say exactly when it clicked. I just… felt like I understood you better.”

Sylvanas couldn’t help but feel a small smile creep onto her face as she nestled closer to Anevay. “You may have to teach me how to do that,” she said softly. “I’ll admit that certain emotional nuances can elude me.” 

Anevay lifted her head and smirked up at her. “They don’t elude you as much as you like to think they do,” she giggled.

Sylvanas arched a brow. “What makes you say that?” 

“Well, because you let history repeat itself when you let a young girl with nowhere else to go into your military?” Anevay smiled. “Because you had an argument with someone close to you when they were about to go through the Dark Portal? Because you were actually stammering and off balance when I asked you to drinks that one time? Face it, you’re still the same person you’ve always been, my Queen. A protective, sentimental, easily flustered cougar.”

A small indignant scoff escaped Sylvanas’ lips, but Anevay could tell there was no sincere outrage behind it. 

“You think you know me that well, Darkflare?” Sylvanas huffed. 

“And your voice goes up in pitch whenever you’re pretending to be angry with me,” Anevay added with a wide smirk. 

Sylvanas was quiet for a moment before swiftly capturing Anevay’s lips in a heated kiss. “Shut up.”


	3. To Involve Herself With a Corpse

Anevay had underestimated the severity of her injuries. Despite still being rather weak, she couldn’t stop herself from helping Apothecary Johann carry his shipment of ingredients. Unfortunately, doing so proved to be the straw that broke the kodo’s back for her worn, tired muscles and she had to be quickly ushered back to the Apothecarium. As it turned out, her muscles were indeed damaged by the lack of food and constant exertion and the tendons in her shoulder had ruptured when put under any more strain.  The apothecaries gave her a slow-acting healing potion and fastened a sling to her arm to keep it in a position to heal properly, before ordering her to avoid lifting anything heavier than five pounds.

There had been a bright side to this, however, as Vol’jin was now demanding Anevay return to Orgrimmar for the celebrations, insisting she needed to be present. He would no doubt attempt to give her more assignments, but having more than just internal signs of her poor health would likely dissuade him. And so it was that she and Sylvanas took a portal into Orgrimmar that evening.

“I was thinking,” Anevay said quietly as she stepped through. “I know we agreed to keep this under wraps for now, but I do think we should tell Nathanos at least.”

Sylvanas arched a curious brow at Anevay. “Are you saying that because you know he’ll get cranky if he finds out we’ve been keeping this from him?” she guessed, an amused smirk teasing the edge of her lips. “Or is your reasoning more pragmatic?”

“Both. He’s been your best friend for decades. If anyone can be trusted it’s him,” Anevay explained. “But also another pair of eyes looking out for us can only be beneficial.”

“Very sound reasoning,” Sylvanas said with a nod as her eyes roamed across the Valley they trod, searching for anyone that might overhear them. “Very well. We shall tell him when we return home.”

Anevay smiled as they approached Grommash Hold and stepped inside. She prepared herself for what was likely to be an exhausting conversation and approached Vol’jin’s throne. Thrall and Saurfang stood on either side of him.

“Warchief, you wanted me here for the celebrations?” Anevay asked politely.

“Ah, Darkflare. Sylvanas. So glad you decided to join us,” Vol’jin said, leaning forward on his throne as he eyed the both of them carefully. “The High Overlord told me you be in pretty bad shape.”

“Malnutrition, sleep deprivation, blood loss, and muscular atrophy according to the apothecaries,” Anevay explained. “That last one was only caught recently.”

Vol’jin arched a brow. “Is that right?” 

“Indeed it is,” Sylvanas said, taking a step forward to subtly stand between the Warchief and Anevay. She reached into her cloak and pulled out a thick, leather bound journal. “Darkflare’s full report details the harrowing experiences that have placed her in this condition. I trust you will find it to be an interesting read.” 

Vol’jin took the journal and looked at it, opening it to a random page. “This be your report, Darkflare?”

“Yes. I took the liberty of keeping a journal to save myself the trouble trying to remember everything after the war was over,” Anevay nodded. “As it turned out, there was a lot to remember. The damn thing is full.”

“The scripture gets quite small near the end, just a forewarning,” Sylvanas said with a smirk. “My Champion ensured that everything made it in the report.” 

Vol’jin didn’t even respond verbally, his attention fixed on the excerpt he opened the journal to. 

> _ Just had to get some more blood drawn. Kalira took a hammer to the leg when we pushed against the Warsong and needed a healing elixir. It doesn’t help that I chose to give my rations for the week to the peons. I’m going to do what I can to recuperate quickly I won’t be able to help anyone if I’m runnin on fumes like this- _

The paragraph went on but the penmanship began to drag and become sloppy. It soon became completely unintelligible until the next entry that was dated for the morning after. 

“I see,” Vol’jin said, closing the book. “I’ll be sure to read it after the celebrations. The High Overlord has confirmed the condition you be in. How long is your recovery?”

“Four weeks, Warchief,” Anevay said.

“Four weeks?!” Vol’jin sat up, balking. “That be excessive, Darkflare!”

“Take it up with the Apothecarium, Warchief,” Anevay shrugged. “I’m not one to argue with trained professionals.” 

Vol’jin exalted sharply from his nostrils before sitting back in his throne. “I will have some healers in the Valley of Spirits providing you with a second opinion after the celebrations,” he decreed, narrowing his gaze onto Sylvanas. “They are trained to deal with the living after all.” 

“Tactful as ever, Warchief,” Sylvanas said dryly.

“You should know, Warchief, that I intend to heed the apothecary’s warnings regardless,” Anevay said, adjusting her sling. “I’ve already torn my shoulder because I didn’t take them seriously, I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Noted,” Vol’jin said dismissively. “Well then. If that’s everything you have to bring to my attention. I believe it be time to commence with the festivities. We’ve put them off long enough as is.” 

“You were waiting on us to join the celebrations?” Sylvanas said, flashing a shit eating grin at the troll. “I didn’t know you cared, Warchief.” 

“You need to be here, Champion,” Vol’jin said, standing up. “It’s good for morale.”

“Morale?” Anevay raised an eyebrow as they followed Vol’jin out of Grommash Hold and into the Valley.

“You’ve become inexplicably popular with the people,” Vol’jin explained. “The peons especially.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s because I fed them,” Anevay snickered. She regretted it immediately as her entire midsection throbbed angrily.

Sylvanas very nearly wrapped a concerned arm around the Blood Elf but managed to catch herself first. “Well then, perhaps we should kick off this celebration with the feast first.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, Windrunner,” Vol’jin chided.

* * *

Vol’jin’s judgment had been that Sylvanas was right.

There was a large, open feast in the Valley of Strength as everyone ate and celebrated a decisive victory against Garrosh and his flimsy attempt at seizing control of the Horde yet again. Everyone from the Horde brought food for the feast and everyone was encouraged to try everything. Anevay herself kept mostly to the Orc and Forsaken food, it simply agreeing with her more after years spent in the Undercity. She did try sagefish from Quel’thalas, remembering enjoying it before the Fall, but it simply made her feel queasy. Her time spent in Lordaeron and later Draenor had changed her metabolism too much.  She also lingered around Sylvanas for most of the feast, who had been set upon by the other Horde leaders constantly throughout the evening. 

“I swear, Durotar gets so pleasantly cool in the evenings you could almost forget it was a desert,” Anevay said as she bit down on a mushroom.

“I will have to take your word for it, Champion,” Sylvanas, her eyes fixed on the general swishing of wine in her goblet. “I tend not to notice the effects of temperature until frost starts forming on my skin.”

“Really?” Anevay smirked, setting the mushroom stump onto her plate and flexing her fingers. “Shall we test that?”

Sylvanas’ eyes widened a fraction before narrowing in a way that silently told Anevay  _ ‘Don’t you dare!’ _ The warning was more for her own sake than Anevay’s as the Dark Lady was not confident in her ability to resist utterly melting at her touch.

“I won’t,” Anevay giggled as she picked up the mushroom again. “I’ll test the Dark Rangers’ theory another time.”

“What theory?” Baine asked.

“According to the Dark Rangers, I’m warm,” Anevay chuckled. “It’s a silly thing, really. But when they first experienced it, they all swarmed around me like moths to a flame.”

“Experienced…?” Baine’s brow furrowed deeply with confusion. 

Sylvanas groaned, finding the Tauren’s lack of intuitive thinking to be torturous. “Those who channel the Fel have an effect on an undead’s tactile senses,” she explained. “When one of my Dark Rangers came into contact with Darkflare, she felt its warmth permeate through her. She’s been their favorite resident of the Undercity ever since.”

“Basically I have warm hugs,” Anevay giggled as she popped the rest of the mushroom into her mouth and groaned. “It’s been way too long since I’ve had good mushrooms. Draenor it was just boar, clefthoof, and garn meat. And no way in hell was I eating garn meat.” She shuddered and bit down on a cactus apple.

Sylvanas hid a slight smile behind her goblet as she observed Anevay. The sight of her being jovial and actively consuming food to replenish her strength was reassuring to the Banshee Queen. Seeing her lover in secret beaming like this was a welcomed sight. 

“Well the game in Nagrand was pretty good,” Rokhan pointed out. “I prefer fish any day of the week, but clefthoof did in a pinch.” 

“Getting the game wasn’t a problem. It was actually harvesting it,” Anevay remarked. “Because  _ someone _ ,” she punctuated this with a glare at Thrall, “decided the best place to set up was on top of a frozen mountain on the other side of the sea! You ever try to haul a clefthoof to be butchered? Half our food shortage issues were due to just getting game to the Garrison before it spoiled.”

Thrall frowned deeply at Anevay. “The Frostwolves gifted us that land,” he said curtly. 

“We were an invading force, we could have taken any foothold from the Iron Horde!” Anevay scoffed. “But no, we’ll take this mountain and then just let Anevay figure out how we’re going to get a twelve-tonne corpse up there. I put you on half-rations the entire campaign just for that one.”

Baine looked at Thrall, befuddled. “That’s odd. Could you not call upon the spirits to supply your forces with game?” 

Thrall’s head fell at the question. “The spirits were different from the ones here on Azeroth. They… resisted me, more often than not.” 

“The rest of the Shamans felt the same thing,” Anevay nodded. “Food was about the biggest issue we had. I wish we had been closer to the actual ground and somewhere warmer, because then the Forsaken could have cultivated mushrooms and slime molds. They taste like crap, but they’re perfect for feeding an army during a shortage.”

“Really?” Baine asked incredulously. 

“I recall when the naval forces from Orgrimmar came to assist us with Gilneas,” Sylvanas said with a mischievous smirk. “They bitched about the taste of the fungi we fed them, but they certainly didn’t starve.”

“I’ve actually grown pretty fond of them,” Anevay shrugged, popping another mushroom into her mouth and sighing happily. “They’re so savory…”

Rokhan simply shook his head before taking another bite of fish. “You’ve been in the Undercity for too long, boss.” 

“But I  _ haven’t _ though. That’s the problem!” Anevay said, her mouth stuffed with mushrooms. “I’ve been stuck on Draenor eating next to everything except awesome mushrooms! Now I can eat all the things I’ve missed eating. Mushrooms, that really potent ale the apothecaries make,  _ women _ !”

Baine choked on his drink. “B-By the Earth Mother, Darkflare!” he coughed, a heavy hand beating at his chest. “Must you!?”

“I am surrounded by Dark Rangers all day!” Anevay huffed indignantly. “What do you expect me to do?! There’s one beside me right now!”

“We expect you to not munch on rotting carpet,” Rokhan scoffed as he chewed his cod.

“You’re eating a raw fish at this very moment, you don’t get to judge me,” Anevay scoffed. “Nobody judged Thrall when he wanted to fuck that mage.”

“ _ Darkflare,” _ Thrall groaned under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose to refrain from looking at the narrowed leer Aggra was shooting him from across the table. 

“Yeah, the difference is that Proudmoore was still alive,” Rokhan deadpanned. “And for the record, this fish is purified with a special blend of spices and oils. It’s one of the many culinary marvels of the Darkspear.”

“First of all, if Thrall had actually slept with her she would have been alive for a total of half a second and then searing unbearable agony the likes of which nobody could possibly endure. I mean look at the man. He’s the size of a brick house. He couldn’t even hug a human woman without powderizing her ribcage,” Anevay scoffed. “Second, you aren’t the only one with special oils.”

“Well when Darkflare puts it like that, I must say that I’m disappointed you  _ didn’t _ sleep with her, Thrall,” Sylvanas said, earning a confused gaze from everyone at the table. “I would have been able to raise a powerful Lich into our ranks if he did.” 

Baine looked at his platter for a moment before pushing it towards the center of the table. “Suddenly, I’ve lost my appetite.”

“How do you think that Kodo got onto your plate?” Anevay snickered. “Because just like my love life, there was probably a lot of shrieking involved.” 

“What, do your partners see you naked, scream in terror and run away?” Rokhan asked with a smirk. 

“Actually… you’re right!” Anevay grinned. “There are so many wounds from that damn fucking sword, I look like a baby zehvra.”

Sylvanas felt her smile faltered slightly. She was well aware of how many scars Anevay had received from Frostmourne. Streaks of black that could not be cleansed from her skin. A permanent reminder of her horrific duel with the Lich King. The scars did not frighten Sylvanas. They couldn’t. But they did make her cold unmoving heart burst with sympathy for the poor girl. 

“Perhaps we can discuss something that isn’t so depraved?” Aggra suggested, her brow furrowed with annoyance. 

“...Absolutely,” Sylvanas said, catching herself from her melancholic fit in time to respond. “Would you believe that my abominations were among the ones who missed Darkflare the most? One of them went to pull her into a hug and, incidentally, caused her to get stuck in his exposed entrails.”

Everyone apart from Anevay pushed their plates to the center of the table.

“I got snagged on a rib, not an entrail,” Anevay scoffed. “And he was sorry. Those things are like round children. Oh, and slight correction, my Queen. They were  _ not  _ the ones who missed me the most.”

“Yes I suppose you’re right,” Sylvanas mused in between a sip of her wine. “I suppose we can consider Skash’ka a part of the Forsaken now. You practically treat her like family.” 

“I missed that wolf so much,” Anevay sighed. “Hunting garn for food when you HAVE a garn? Not fun!”

“Have you told her yet?” Sylvanas asked, pursing her lips slightly. “I would think she deserves to know the truth.”

“Hey I wasn’t anywhere near them at any point in the process,” Anevay huffed. “I went FAR away from the Garrison when Garn were being butchered. The very idea made me feel like all of these lightweights are right now!”

“You both honestly cannot think of any proper discussions to be having during a banquet?” Baine asked incredulously.

“I’ll tell you what, Chieftain. Next time I go to an unknown land to fight a war cut off from Azeroth, give me enough supplies to last more than  _ one day _ and build more than two huts and I’ll happily be more courteous to your delicate stomachs at the victory banquet,” Anevay smiled, though it was a very snide, angry smile. “Until then, my current condition is the result of having to work around what all of you gave me. So I’ll take the tiny recompense of ruining your appetites in place of anything more appropriate, like  _ open rebellion _ .”

The silence that hung over the table was far more tense than any before it.

“...Fair enough,” Baine said, refraining from saying any more as he took a hefty sip from his mug.

Anevay growled and ate another mushroom, allowing her words to sink in around the table. Most of the Horde’s leaders had long complained that Anevay was too lippy with them. It was often the excuse they made to put her under terrible conditions in battle. But everyone was looking around at each other as they realized that Anevay had actively chosen to express her anger and displeasure through venom when she could have very easily usurped most of the Horde. She had the respect of the soldiers and the peons to do it. The leadership might have had a thousand complaints about her, but without the people they were effectively at her mercy.

That she chose to remain in her station and sling vitriol was practically a blessing.

Sylvanas’ chest swelled with pride at how swiftly and efficiently Anevay managed to command, if not respect, then silence of the entire table. Had her impulse control been any weaker, she likely would have had her way with the blood elf then and there. As it stood she settled for flashing her an approving smile.  Anevay smiled back as she sipped her ale, quietly wishing she had use of both hands to eat with instead of just one. Her shoulder ached and her head was throbbing after her outburst. The silence around the table continued until it was broken by one brave sin’dorei who saw fit to approach twenty minutes later.

“Lady Darkflare?” she asked, wringing her fingers. “Could I talk to you?”

“It’s Anevay. And I’m not really in a position to get up,” Anevay said sheepishly, turning as best as she could to face the woman. “What can I do for you?”

The blood elf squeaked slightly as Anevay gave her undivided attention, a definite blush forming on her fair cheeks. “...Well… first I wanted to... congratulate you for all you’ve accomplished in Draenor. You are truly one of the greatest warriors in all of the Horde.” To the girl’s credit, she did manage to retain eye contact with Anevay as she spoke.

“Thank you,” Anevay smiled as she bit into another mushroom, unable to resist the sigh of happiness. She really had been gone for  _ way  _ too long.

Anevay’s positive response caused the other Blood Elf to feel a swell of courage. “It’s a pleasure and an honor to finally meet you. My name is Mira Dawnwater.” She blinked, suddenly realizing something. “I, uh… probably should have started with my name, shouldn’t I?” Her ears folded against her dark hair as her cheeks turned and even more bashful shade of red.

“Yes perhaps you should have, Mira,” Anevay chuckled, setting the mushroom stalk down and taking another sip of her ale. “So what can I do for you?”

“Well…” Mira bit her lip, trying not to look back to the small group of Blood Elves that were urging her to go on. “...I was wondering if you would at all be interested in getting a drink later? Maybe some dinner?”

Sylvanas, who had only been paying a modicum of attention to the exchange in favor of her wine, suddenly prickled. Hard. She did not turn to look at Mira, lest she give away how blown wide her crimson eyes became. 

This girl was trying to court Anevay.  Her lover. 

_ In front of her. _

A part of the Banshee Queen wanted nothing more than to make the timid girl flee from the table with a flash of fangs and fiery eyes. Another, stronger part of her decided to remain silent and see how Anevay responded.

“That sounds like it would be a lovely time, but I’m afraid I have to say no,” Anevay smiled sympathetically. “I’m already seeing someone back home.”

Sylvanas didn’t know whether to sigh with relief or be surprised that Anevay admitted that so openly. Even if she didn't’ say who she was ‘seeing’ it was still a bold thing to confess to right beside the other Horde leadership.

Mira gasped, placing a hand over her mouth. “Oh! Belore, I am so sorry! I didn’t know!” The red on her face grew larger and bolder with embarrassment. 

“That’s quite alright, you haven’t done anything wrong,” Anevay shook her head, waving Mira down. “It’s a recent development, most people wouldn’t know, and besides I value my privacy.”

“I completely understand and… and I wish you both the very best!” Mira said with an awkward grin, waving politely at Anevay before turning back to walk defeatedly towards her social circle.

“Nice girl,” Anevay smiled as she sipped her ale. “I hope she can find someone who’s available.”

“Indeed,” Sylvanas said, trying not to appear especially pleased with herself. Especially not since Thrall started looking at the two of them with a narrowed, suspicious gaze.

Anevay caught Thrall’s gaze out of the corner of her eye and turned to him, looking confused. “...Aggra, your mate’s staring at me.”

Aggra flashed Thrall an absolutely venomous glare, prompting Thrall to cease his leering and giving the two elves more relative breathing room. 

“Gandering at other women in front of his mate,” Sylvanas tutted with an insidious grin. “Aggra truly deserves better.”

“After the stunt he pulled when he was Warchief, indeed she truly does,” Anevay nodded.

Baine looked up, confused. “What did Thrall do?”

“He hit on me,” Anevay said matter-of-factly. “Both him  _ and  _ Garrosh did, actually. Garrosh was more aggressive and had to be handled with the broad side of a warblade though.”

Aggra’s brow knitted deeply at that. “...And when was this, pray tell?” she asked Thrall with the utmost contempt.

“Y-Years ago,” Thrall insisted nervously, “Long before I met you.”

“I’m not too certain about that,” Anevay snickered. “I’m pretty sure it was AFTER you and I traveled in Outland together.” 

“Darkflare!” Thrall growled.

“It was seven years ago, Aggra,” Anevay chuckled. “Thrall pursued other women as well in that time. You know how men are.”

“And yet they continue to surprise me with their bullshit,” Aggra huffed.

“Perhaps you should take your chances with the fairer sex, Aggra,” Sylvanas said with an amused smirk. “They seldom come with all this exacerbating drama.” 

“Didn’t the Proudmoore girl dump you?” Rokhan deadpanned.

“Yes, and it was a rather straightforward affair,” Sylvanas said stiffly as she took another sip of her wine.

“Okay, but all jokes aside, why were you glaring at me like I killed your dog?” Anevay asked, looking at Thrall again.

“Because your mention of finding a mate puzzled me,” Thrall explained. “In your condition, I struggle to understand when or how this came to pass.” His gaze shifted over to Sylvanas. “And with whom.”

Anevay cocked an eyebrow and followed Thrall’s gaze toward Sylvanas, and then balked. “Oh you think…” she sputtered with laughter and slapped the table. “Thank you, Thrall. It’s flattering to know that someone actually thinks I could manage to achieve that.” The deception was surprisingly easy considering she genuinely believed Sylvanas was so far out of her league that this had to be some kind of dream. 

The rest of the table seemed satisfied with that response. Thrall arched a suspecting brow at the two of them, not feeling entirely convinced. “So the two of you are not-”

“I’m  _ literally _ a dead woman, Thrall,” Sylvanas interjected sharply. “For all of Darkflare’s jests otherwise, she has not pursued anything of the like with me or anyone of my Forsaken, and I don’t blame her. She has enough sense not to stoop so low as to involve herself with a corpse.” She watched as Thrall opened his mouth to respond before she cut him off. “If there was any doubt that what I am is no longer worthy of love or even desire, then perhaps the ever optimistic and hopeful Proudmoore wouldn’t have turned me away in disgust. But she did, so here we are.” 

Anevay’s brow furrowed as she turned to look at Sylvanas with a perplexed expression. She knew Sylvanas was playing things up, but she also knew that she actually believed these things about herself. And the implications… troubled her.

“With all due respect, Dark Lady, I disagree. Emphatically,” Anevay said, taking a sip of her ale. “And I do believe I said I was seeing someone  _ back home _ .”

Sylvanas blinked, Anevay’s words causing that familiar lip twitch that risked giving away her nihilistic front. She managed to gather herself enough to turn her attention back to her near empty goblet. “Well then, I’ll be sure to ordain your wedding,” she said almost inaudibly, fearing that anything louder would give away the storm of conflicting feelings she suddenly experienced.

“I’m certain me and the Dark Ranger I’m seeing would be delighted at such an honor,” Anevay chuckled with a smile. “I’ll inform you and Nathanos when we return to the Undercity so there isn’t a worry about a security breach. And please, Dark Lady, never talk about yourself or the others like that again. You’re worth more than the Alliance would have you believe.”

Sylvanas was silent for a moment, not daring to meet Anevay’s gaze, lest she commit the irrevocable blunder of being emotional around the other Horde leadership. 

“...Your words are kind, Lady Darkflare,” she said with a slight nod. “Perhaps I will take them to heart.” 

“I hope you do,” Anevay smiled as she popped another mushroom into her mouth. Thrall continued to glare suspiciously at her, but Anevay paid him no mind. She had done what she intended to do, and guage exactly how much suspicion there was that something was going on between her and Sylvanas. And indeed there was  _ high _ suspicion. That told her they would need to be careful in order to keep things under wraps.

She didn’t see the point, honestly. But Sylvanas was ever paranoid, so Anevay would accommodate her as best she could. 

She loved that woman to bits, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Well we finally did it. Are you happy you freaking madlads?


End file.
